Before I went to bed on Sunday night, I had a pretty good idea what the next morning would bring. And on Monday morning as I dried off from my shower, there was a knock on the bathroom door. J had just received the news that his Grandma A had passed away.

J's two aunts had spent the night with her, and both said that she went peacefully in her sleep. Her breathing got deep for a moment, and then simply stopped.

We're all glad she's not suffering anymore - not that she ever really complained.

So on that note, in honour of her memory, I thought it was only appropriate to say a few things about Grandma A.

I've only known her for the last 5 years, but she quickly made a wonderful positive impression. She was always such a doll and a joy to be around.

She loved her crafts. In her final weeks, she was still crocheting doilies. She always gave her handicrafts away as gifts at every occasion – even at routine family dinners. I almost have a whole shelf in my linen closet filled with her hand towels, dish clothes and doilies – as does everyone else.

But she did more than just crochet. She did a little of everything, like creating all kinds of ornaments and decorations. I have a cute black and pink spider that she made out of beads. I love it - even though J says that it's creepy. Last October, when Grandma went into the home, one of J's aunts who was cleaning out her apartment asked if I was interested in any of her craft supplies, or else they'd probably get tossed. I offered to take the beading stuff off their hands, expecting maybe a shoebox full. I received a crate. Literally.

Grandma A was always friendly and social. When they moved her into the home, she didn’t protest, and embraced the change right away. Even though her time there was brief, she managed to make plenty of friends. On Tuesdays and Thursdays people at the home were invited to attend a special activity day at a local community center. And because she was so pleasant, the very first day she participated, the hosts invited her to a more exclusive "members only" senior's activity day on Saturdays. It seemed that everyone loved her as much as we did.

Another great thing was how she took a real interest in other people's lives. She'd ask us about work, our script, and life in general. But more importantly, she listened. While this action sounds simple enough, if there's one thing I've learned in my short life is that there are not enough folks out there who ask questions and actually care to listen to the response. It seems to me that there are too many people who don't pay attention to a word you say, because their mind is already busy thinking about what they want to say next. Those who ask and actually listen are as refreshing as they are sometimes rare.

Grandma A also had a great sense of humour which you'd never expect from a little old lady in her late 80's. Her comments would seem to come out of nowhere. When watching "Bad Santa" a couple years ago, she was not offended by the language, and even blurted out, "Oh look! They're having a screw!" Ha. She was so cute. You never knew what to expect from her.

But most of all, Grandma A was known by everyone for being very positive. During one of our last visits with her, we were stuck sitting next to the "old crank" as mentioned in my Kind Mary post. Grandma said to J n’ I loud enough so the whole room could hear, "You can choose if you want to be positive or negative in life... so why not be positive? I'd rather be happy." Her statement was a simple as it is true. And that's how she lived... always positive. Always happy.

When she learned she had cancer, she shrugged, "Well, I'm old. I've had a good life. I'm okay with it. We all gotta go sometime." J's Grandma M - the feisty, more complainy one - didn't buy that someone could be so positive all the time and felt that Grandma A must be faking it. "She must be in a state of shock. No one can be that easy going. This is a serious matter. She's hiding something!" But even if Grandma A had been devastated by the prognosis, you'd never ever know it. She felt that death was a part of life, and she embraced it all in the same way.

Actually, when we went to visit Grandma A in the hospice on Christmas Day with J's family, as she lay there dying, Grandma M sat on the bed next to her and complained about how she couldn't get comfortable and that J's dad was taking up all the room. I'll never forget how Grandma A turned to her and said, "Oh, stop complaining!" Grandma M continued complaining anyway, this time in a more teasing manner, saying that Grandma A should scold her son for being so disrespectful and taking up all the room on the bed, etc. And again, Grandma A, weak and crumpled in her chair, managed to muster even louder, "You just stop complaining. You complain too much." Grandma A turned away, and smiled at us with a little twinkle in her grey eyes.

Now, I'm not saying that everyone should be the strong silent type and hide all their pain and misery... but I don't think everything in life warrants a complaint. J's other Grandma M complains constantly about every ailment imaginable, and then complains about every single person who was rude to her over the last 50 years, and then complains about who in Hollywood is a hop head or a drunk, and what a prick David Spade is because of that Bu-bye sketch he did a million years ago, and how she hates Bugs Bunny for being such a smart ass... (I’m not exaggerating, btw. Her spiteful grudges are what keep her going in life – and okay, I have to admit, I often find it entertaining. She's like a real life Maxine. She kinda looks like her too.) Anyhow, all I’m saying is that I really think she could learn a thing or two from Grandma A’s positive attitude, (actually, we all could,) because even as death encroached, she still had a better, more uplifting quality of life than Grandma M.

In fact, the most flattering indirect compliment I have ever received was when I overheard J on the phone yesterday describing his Grandma A to a friend. "She'd remind you a lot of Mel. She was very sweet, really positive." I was touched. I only hope I can be as positive as she is when I'm 89, or looking directly into the face of death. She is an inspiration, and I’m happy I got to know her a little bit over these last few years.

So that's my tribute to Grandma A....

And just as she would lift her little glass of akvavit to make a toast at every special occasion, I’d like to raise my (imaginary) glass in her honour.

"Skole!"